


cupid carries a gun

by Duckyboos



Series: Profound Meetings [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Mob, Crush at First Sight, Friends to Enemies, M/M, Russian Castiel (Supernatural), Russian Mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25429549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Duckyboos
Summary: Castiel is five years old the first time he visits America.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Profound Meetings [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820488
Comments: 77
Kudos: 333





	cupid carries a gun

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being a bit longer than the goal I set for myself, but that seems to a theme now!
> 
> Next week's meetcute is a monster(ish) AU.
> 
> Come talk to me on [ tumblr](http://not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com/). I'm nice, I promise!

Castiel is five years old the first time he visits America. 

His nanny is patiently waiting for him at the bottom of the slide in a park, but the children waiting their turn are not so considerate. A boy comes up behind him, pushes in front of the others, and just as Castiel thinks he’s going to be forcibly shoved down the slide, the boy smiles at him, and wordlessly pushes something into his palm. 

It’s a toy car, and Castiel immediately likes it, likes the way the sun makes it all shiny. He thinks that black (like the car) or green (like the boy's eyes) might be his favorite color.

He makes it to the bottom of the slide, car in hand, and when he looks back up to return a wobbly smile at his new friend, the green-eyed boy is gone.

  
  


***

  
  


The next time Castiel is in America, he is almost twelve and learning English. It’s a tricky, nuanced language that doesn’t always make much sense. He understands more than he speaks, but that still isn’t a lot. 

He’s sitting alone on a bench in the same park, reading, when a shadow falls across him and his dog-eared book.

He looks up and right into a familiar green-eyed gaze and Castiel suddenly understands everything and nothing about love. The boy’s smile is broad and white and Castiel is blinded for a long moment, blinking and helpless in the light of it. 

The boy is speaking  _ at  _ Castiel; rushed, native English that Castiel can barely follow - snatches here and there that have him struggling to keep up. He tilts his head, narrows his eyes as he concentrates on picking out the words he understands.

Before he can make a stilted attempt at telling this boy his name, his nanny shouts it instead -  _ “Кастиэль!” _ \- and understanding dawns on the boy’s face. 

“You and me - friends?” The boy asks slowly and clearly, and Castiel smiles self-consciously as he gets to his feet. He skirts around his friend and rushes toward his nanny as fast as he can without looking like he’s running away. 

Green is definitely his favorite color. 

  
  


***

  
  


The next time Castiel visits America, he’s six years older and on the cusp of adulthood. They’re back in Boston for the third time and Castiel understands the nuances of the English language much better, though still not the societal conventions.

Americans are so friendly. And  _ tactile _ . 

Because Castiel is almost of age (in Russia at least), his father brings him along to the bar instead of leaving him in the nearby park. He’s certainly aged out of needing a nanny and his father is keen to have him along to see where he and his associates discuss business. 

The bartender drags Castiel’s attention away from the old men hunched around a corner table, speaking in harsh, hushed tones, and forces it to familiar green eyes and freckles.

“Hey!” His friend says, “I remember you - we’ve met a couple of times in the park, right?”

Castiel nods. This time he has the English, but not the words.

His gaze drops down the length of Castiel’s body, back up to his eyes, “You grew up good, huh?”

‘Good’ isn’t exactly how Castiel would frame it. 

The voices around the table grow louder and it pulls Castiel’s focus away from the bartender. 

Castiel has a gun under his suit jacket and he’s not entirely unwilling to use it. 

“My name’s Dean,” His friend tells him, seconds before Castiel’s father leaps up from the table, speaking in a torrent of angry Russian and storms past Castiel with a command of “Кастиэль, идём!” (Castiel, come!), before disappearing out the door. 

Castiel shrugs apologetically, traipses after his father. 

  
  


***

  
  


Castiel doesn’t visit America for a few years after that. 

His father is sick - poisoned it is suspected - and as the sole heir to the братва́ (bratvá) it is Castiel’s time to step up, ensure that relations are maintained throughout the period of change.

Back in Boston for the fourth time, Castiel heads to John Winchester’s bar. He doesn’t get the opportunity to speak to Dean - or be spoken _ at _ by him - but he does almost bump into him as he’s leaving the bar. Dean’s mouth drops open and Castiel manages a stiff nod in return before he’s bundled away into a town car by his father’s bodyguards. 

  
  


***

The next time Castiel is in America, it’s for a funeral. It’s not for anyone close to him - he has nobody left to lose - but it’s important he attend all the same. 

Dean looks magnificent, even in his sorrow. His eyes are a more vivid shade of green now that they’re ringed by red, tear tracks down cheeks that are no longer softened by baby fat.

As a child and teenager, Dean was beautiful. 

As an adult, Dean is breathtaking. 

From afar, Castiel watches him and his younger brother Sam mourn the loss of their father.

Castiel’s own father died a while ago. Nobody in this life goes out the easy way and whether death comes via poison or a bullet to the gut, the result is the same.

Angry, resigned sons taking over. 

As the Pakhan of the bratvá, Castiel is here to make sure that Dean’s anger gets fired in the right direction. 

Well. The wrong direction for Dean and the right one for Castiel. 

  
  


***

American vodka isn’t nearly as smooth as the Russian stuff. 

Now that Dean owns this bar - and the mob - he really should consider getting in some decent alcohol.

Resting the toy car on the bar in front of him, Castiel downs the vodka, shards of ice and all. 

He waits.

  
  


***

“What the fuck?” Dean’s heavy footsteps are loud on the hardwood floor, “Who the fuck are you and how the  _ fuck _ did you get in here? 

So many words in the English language and Dean chooses one so vulgar.

Still, there’s no denying that the word requires nuance, which is one of Castiel’s favorite things about English.

Castiel rises slowly, buttons his suit jacket one-handed, and picks the car up. He rests it on the palm of his hand as he turns, revels in the way Dean’s face travels from anger, to confusion, to recognition, and circles back to confusion again.

It’s only right that Castiel returns the gesture of friendship now that they’re meeting for the first time as enemies.

In heavily accented English, Castiel finally speaks to the son of John Winchester. The same John Winchester that killed Castiel’s father and who Castiel killed in retaliation, “You and me - friends?”


End file.
